


Higher still and higher

by Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Final Fantasy XV, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Cor appears to only stare in awe, F/M, Minor Descriptions of Body Horror, Myranda is a bamf and good friend, Sansa flies away from her problems, like only a smidge, what a man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish/pseuds/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish
Summary: Growing wings was not what Sansa had thought could ever happen.(Happy Birthday LadyHallen!!)
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Cor Leonis
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Higher still and higher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyHallen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/gifts).



She didn’t know if it was a blessing by the gods or if something in her warped and mutated along with the way she changed herself. As Alayne Stone, she was quiet, a bastard, and called an enemy a father. She tried to disappear Sansa under darker clothes, under darker hair, just to stay safe. Stifled what she truly wished to say, lying, for the sake of survival. She did all this and wondered if this was the gods twisted way of telling her to not to. 

Her back ached for days, servants confused and terrified. Littlefinger flitting in and out of room, never saying much. Just watching. Always watching with dark, heavy, eyes. Sometimes he would run his hand down her exposed back, her pale skin shivering in revulsion under his touch, smoothing his fingers across the two, painful, lumps pushing against her skin painfully. Sansa would close her eyes and tamp down on the churning need to throw up.

That was all during the day. At night, she would face her window on her stomach, an aching longing to leave. To jump. To fly. To get away from this cold room and from the strangers that surround her. The only reprieve during all of this, was Myranda Royce visiting her every now and then. She would come into Sansa’s room like an overly polite whirlwind, and talk about the happenings around the Eyrie. For a brief moment, the pain in her back would fade with the other girl’s words. 

It was evening, when they finally emerged, with only Myranda in the room. At this point, the bulges on her back became one large one, as if she had became hunch-backed in the last few weeks. Whatever was underneath, Sansa felt them shift restlessly, mimicking her own desires to be freed. Myranda had spotted the movement and came to a silent, decisive decision without Sansa’s knowledge. She had climbed onto the messy bed, straddled her scarred thighs, and took a knife to her back.

Biting the pillows under her head, Sansa muffled her screams, like she had done after a time when in Joffrey’s court. She felt the hot white pain of the dagger piercing her skin, felt it drag from the top of the hunch to the bottom. It was like finally moving limbs after being held in place and trapped for so long. A relief of allowance to move. She heard the splattering of something thick and liquid across the floors and walls. And by the disgusted and gagged sound behind her, the liquid hit Myranda too.

But she could also feel blood pooling down her sides, a worrisome amount at that. The lifting of the aching pain, and the blood-loss, had her vision going dark, the last thing registered was the frantic words of the girl who released her from her pain.

Coming to was slow and dragging. A laziness to her eye lids and heavy weight to her body. She had groaned when she tried to move, and a rustle of movement had her finally opening her eyes to bright sunlight. A tired and concerned Myranda sat by her bedside, and for a second, Sansa felt that she could cry. How long had it been since someone looked at her with such concern and worry? To take watch over her vulnerable form? 

It had turned out she had grown wings somehow. The large, white feathered limbs were heavy and weighed down her body. It was exhausting to walk with them, the wings slumped and trailing across the floor. She had no strength nor muscle to move them. And in return with their release came the aching of her back once more. Myranda, who stayed with her for weeks even after she freed them, had gave her a stern talking to about needing to move and exercise them, or they would be dead weight forever. 

The only thing that she truly loved about the wings at that moment, was how everyone was barred from visiting by Linttlefinger. Even the man himself only came every now and then to check if she was still alive. The absence of his lust-filled gaze brought a grateful sensation building in her chest. She did not know what was said of her outside of these rooms, but she did not care. She was away from those that would do her harm or would turn away from her in her time of need. Only Myranda’s steadfast diligence mattered in those moments. 

With time, she worked the wings, stretches and flaps, causing feathers to puff and float about to her giggling delight. She had not a reason to laugh these long and painful years. But finally, in some bizarre form of blessing or curse by the gods, she had a reason. With the exercise came strange new muscles growing on her back and on her chest. ‘ _A second set.’_ Myranda had pondered out loud. Sansa did not know what to think of them, but they helped with the wings movements, and where not that strange to look at in comparison to her feathery limbs really.

When the downy feathers fell out, causing a great big mess for weeks to both the girls displeasure, the new ones grew in, whiter and brighter than the last. With black spots freckled about the wings, Sansa recognised with delight what bird her wings had taken the image of. A snowy owl. Only found in the North, a perfect camouflage in the inter-scape that filled her home lands. And now it was here with her, as she was lost and far from any familiarity.

‘ _Good hunters too, owls are_.’ Myranda had remarked. And a swell of spiteful pride filled her, thinking about how she was remarked upon with derision as a small, little dove. Prey. But no. She was a hunter. A wolf in bird form.

Flying was something the girls talked about much, and Sansa was both filled with excitement and terror, thinking of what would happen if her wings had failed her in their first flight. But Myranda once again brought up confidence and bravery in her, saying that baby birds had to fall to fly. And so Sansa fell.

And

She

_Flew_

It was night time, when no one would see her, and Myranda watched by the balcony as Sansa stood on it’s stone ledge, great white wings spread out in balance. Her blood sung, heart beating with anticipation that verged on fear. As with her wings spread, she did the same with her arms, and pushed off from her bare feet into the open air. The wind was biting cold as she fell, wings flapping near uselessly as she struggled to catch the wind. 

Her eyes where shut tight against the wind, watering them in the cold sensation. For a second, Sansa imagined her body lying broken and mangled, wings that were unable to catch her, bloodied and torn. But that Northern grit, that fire that had become so dampened over the years, flared up in rejection of that fate, and shoved open her new limbs, demanding them to work to her favour.

She had watched the rocky ground that came speeding towards her halt and disappear just as rapidly as it arrived, as her wings caught the wind and she shot back up to the starlit sky. Her blue eyes sparked with sheer delight and a laugh of exhilaration bubbled out of her lungs into the cold night. Flapping and floating through the dark sky, she felt freer than ever.

It was as if after that first flight that the happy solitude went crumbling around her, as reality fell into place and the world sped forward to catch up with the paused time that she lived in. She had her nightly flights, growing stronger and confident in her wings, but Myranda brought whispers of experiments and wing removal to her ears, and familiar fear gripped her chest tightly. Blue eyes staring into Myranda’s brown, fear prominent and desperation begging, Myranda nodded with understanding.

When Sansa first had her wings freed, she knew she would have to alter or create new dresses in order to work around the limbs. With deft fingers, she sewed thick woollen and warm cotton dresses, leaving an empty space on the backs. They laced and buttoned up at the front instead of the back. A thick fabric ran down from the back collar of each dress, connecting to the bottom with a button where the hole was made, settling in between her wings. It was a way of keeping stability in her dresses, and preserving a little bit of modesty at that exposed flesh. Though it wasn’t as exposed as it could have been, with the way soft, tiny feathers had grown on the skin around her wings.

Along with her new dresses, in her family colours of white and grey, she had made breeches, knowing flight would expose places she did not want anyone to see. Also it was quite cold flying in the air, and she wanted to stay warm. They too were in grey, making three sets. Myranda had gifted her with fur lined gloves, boots, and a short, white, fur neck wrap. It latched together just at her collarbones, keeping her cheeks and neck warm. She was sad to see that cloaks would be more of a hinderance than a help. 

They prepared like she was leaving, both knowing she was, but the casual display of gifting and making travelling clothes, acted as if she wasn’t. It was a strange dance that they played, along with conversations of terrain and hunting for food. Sansa had never hunted before, but felt an interesting instinct well up inside her. When she would fly through the night, sudden movements of birds, land animals, and sometimes humans, had this urge flowing through her to swoop down and catch.

And that wasn’t the only change. Her eye sight became sharp, better. A strange ability to switch between seeing well in the day, and then seeing through the night as if the sunlight shone on everything. She wasn’t entirely human anymore, and Sansa knew she had to leave. She knew she had to leave the second her wings grew in, but let the marvel of her wings smother that instinctual fear. It was naive of her to do so, something she had thought was beaten out of her.

Now she stood on the ledge, like she did every night since the first flight, but this time dressed in her furs and wool, a satchel across her chest and between her wings. Myranda stood at her back and whispered a firm, “Survive, Sansa Stark.”

Her body had jolted at hearing her real name from the girl’s lips for the first time, and tried to turn her wide eyes to her friend. But instead, a strong hand pushed against the middle of her wings, and she fell from the balcony. 

Her wings had intuitively caught her, launching her into the sky and away from the Eyrie, but those last words filled her with a grateful strength. She would never forget the kindness and protection that Myranda Royce gave her in those months of confusion and solitude. 

She flew until morning, finding a thick pine tree to curl up in and sleep. When dusk creeped up on her, she awoke and searched for food. Nuts and fruits. A rabbit she had dove down upon. It wouldn’t be the first animal she had have skinned, having done so many times when in Winterfell, but hunting was new. Luckily, her newly emerged instincts helped to guide her, but she had to shove down the urge to shove the entire thing, bones and all, into her mouth. That was just a step to close to animal that she did not wish to go.

Sansa repeated this routine, heading North. it worked for a week, until a large storm hit the skies around her, and she was blown wildly off course. Not wanting to crash land and injure herself, she went with the wind, fighting to keep her wings strong and powerful through the howling wind and freezing downpour. Lightning would periodically strike across the blackened sky, illuminating that land below her.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t land below her, but water. 

The storm had her in a terrifying daze of desperation to flee the havoc in the sky, not caring that she may be forever lost from her home in not fighting back against it. For a split second, she mused with melancholy tinged humour that Arya would’ve fought against the storm. 

It was exhaustion that had her crash landing, not the storm, her body weak and aching, unused to such pressures and exertion of flight. She was struck with familiarity when her body laid on it’s side, hurting and throbbing in pain, that it was like the day of her wings freedom. Fingers dug into the dirt below her, she opened her eyes to confusion and unfamiliar lands, with no one by her side.

Frustration exploded out of her as she slammed her fists into the ground, tears flowing freely. She was so close! She could taste Northern air right before the storm. She was almost home. And now she was further from it than ever before. Panting and weeping, she pressed her forehead against the dirt almost painfully, and kneeled slumped and despondent for a long time.

She did manage to recollect herself, staggering up to her booted feet, wings slumped and tired. The white feathers were crooked and uncomfortable, the limbs dragging across the ground collecting dirt. They were so magnificent before her journey. Now they needed severe cleaning. The kind that she always had Myranda to help with. A sudden pang of heartache filled her, thinking of her friend, before she shook that sadness aside, needing the focus.

Flying was not an option right now, needing a break. So instead she walked. She was in some kind of field, a dirt road not to far from her right, and a forest to her left. Instincts told her to take cover in the canopies of pine trees and oaks. But her human mind told her a road led to civilisation. But then again, wings aren’t natural to human and society.

The thought of experiments done to her body and wings had her hesitating in taking the road. So she stood in the field, pulled in two directions, not going to either. Instead her decision was made for her when a loud roaring noise sounded from the road, and she stumbled back in fright. A strange black moving thing stopped on the road. Sansa would hesitate to call it a wheel-house, as it lacked horses, pulled by something else, moving invisibly.

And from the still vehicle, came five figures stepping out and staring at her. She felt her wings achingly come up in fright, trying to make her look bigger and scary. But that didn’t stop the figures, men her terrified mind supplied for her, from approaching her with trepidation. Legs like they were trapped in ice, Sansa stood frozen in fear as they came nearer and nearer. 

Unwillingly, she whimpered out a pleading, “ _Please_. Don’t hurt me.” 

That stopped them in their tracks, looking at one another. She could not see what their faces showed, but all she knew was that this was an opportunity to run. And finally, her legs unstuck, and her wings seemed to lack their pain. Because she swiftly crouched down in place, wings shooting out, and they pushed her up into the sky, wind whistling in her ears as she quickly flew away from the danger. 

Over time, from observation mainly, and hints of conversation overheard in the woods that she slept in, Sansa learnt that this was not Westeros. This was not Essos either. A strange place called Eos, where horse-less carts drove frequently. Where the building were stranger. Where lightning was contained and flowed through thin wires from pole to pole. And the animals. Don’t get her started on the weird animals, large and beastly like she’s never seen before. Her mind felt frazzled, spinning with new and confusing things around her. So sticking with familiarity, she stayed near forest and what would be called undeveloped towns, closer to what she knew of building than the metal, gleaming ones, of the large city she flew over.

But curiosity overtook her when she was flying over head a town at night, knowing to stay away from the strange and terrifying creatures that came out only at night. The sound of bangs and bright flashes drew her towards what looked to be a battle. Armoured soldiers fought non-armoured fighters, the non-armoured out numbered but fighting well. Sansa almost left the fight alone, not wanting to get caught in between and injured, but a cry of pain reached her ear, and that compassionate part of her had her diving down before she even knew it.

Arms out stretched, she slammed into an armoured soldier, tackling it to the ground. Pulling out the dagger that Myranda had used on her back and subsequently given to her before her journey, she stabbed it quickly into the bright, unnervingly, glowing red eyes of the soldier, and watched with a sick horror, as they faded and became dark.

She had never killed anyone before.

That had her turning to the side from where she sat upon the now dead soldier, and threw up. Coughing hard after the bile fled her stomach and mouth, she wiped her mouth on the back of her gloved hand and looked up at the one she saved. Storm eyes shone in the morning sunlight, hair tussled and mused from the fight. The open expression of wonder and awe directed at her had a strange sensation flutter in her stomach.

Cor was convinced that it was a mass-induced hallucination caused by their recent skirmish with some MT’s that made them see a winged girl. They were stunned and curious, approaching her with only a small amount of caution. But Cor should’ve figured that five men fearlessly walking towards you would cause anyone to run. And the way she seemed to have tried to warn them, stop them from coming nearer, with the way her wings arched and flared. Cor studied birds, loved the feather creatures. He should’ve known to stop even before she pleaded softly for them to not hurt her. 

Looking at the bedraggled wings and dirt covered clothes, he came to the conclusion that she must have been travelling for a long time. Unfortunately though, they weren’t able to even ask her name as she shot off into the sky with a massive gust of wind from her wings. Blocking the dirt from flying into his eyes, Cor watched with awe as she disappeared from sight.

But he put that down to a hallucination. Up until she appeared again, tackling an MT that had just sliced across his arm with a bullet into the ground and stabbing it without hesitation. In the dawning light, Cor could admit looking back that that was when he started to fall in love with her. The way she stared at the Mt with blazing blue eyes, and sunlight casting flames across her hair. White and better cleaned wings arching tall and threatening. But that’s in the future. At that moment he just stared dumb-struck at the heaving angel before them. 

The fur around her neck, the almost feral look to the girl, had him debating if angel was the right word for her though. Biting his lip, uncertain, he approached her warily. Her blue eyes stared him down, equally wary. In his peripheral, he noted that the others from the Retinue did not move, letting him be the one to approach their helper but possible enemy.

Keeping movements unthreatening and slow, Cor pulled out his flask of water, and unscrewed the lid. He took a swig, her narrowed and uncertain eyes watching every move, to show it wasn’t dangerous. And then offered it to her.

There was hesitation in her body as she reached out and took it, her gloved hands soft against his bare ones. 

She took gulping swallows, obviously thirsty, before handing it back. Her cheeks bulged with the water, and unwillingly, his lips twitched into an amused smile. Wide eyes, so, so blue like the winter sky, looked confused at his amusement. And then she swallowed her mouthful, and flushed red charmingly against her pale cheeks, shy and embarrassed. Cor could admit he was smitten by that expression. 

Sansa did not know what to think of this kind young man who offered her water and a smile, but she hoped her instincts were right in saying that he was not an enemy.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, i didn’t know where else to go with that, so there you go. Hinted romance in the future.   
> My thoughts on winged anatomy is that you have a second set of chest and back muscles, like how you have a set for your arms and shoulders. If i took this one step further, i would also say that your torso is also a bit more elongated in order to accommodate for the second set of limbs.
> 
> Hope you liked this birthday gift my dear!!


End file.
